


Ectoplasm

by dirtyuncle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Ghosts, Mutual Masturbation, PWP, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 23:24:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13421826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirtyuncle/pseuds/dirtyuncle
Summary: Harry Potter comes to thank Moaning Myrtle for her help during the second task.





	Ectoplasm

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry.

Harry glanced around to make sure he was alone, then faced the door and took a bracing breath. Visiting Moaning Myrtle was not his idea of a good time, but he felt he owed her for showing him the way during the second task.

Alas, he hadn't managed to rope Ron into coming along; according to him, Harry had to be barmy to willingly seek out Hogwarts's most capricious ghost. Harry came close to retorting that if it wasn't for her, Ron would still be at the bottom of the lake, but knowing now that the hostages hadn't been in _real_ danger, he held his tongue.

Exhaling, Harry turned the handle and stepped inside before he could get cold feet. Shutting the creaking door behind himself, he cast his gaze about the dingy loo. The place looked much the same as two years ago: dirty flagstone floor, grimy sinks, and above them, a cloudy mirror showing his distorted reflection.

Stepping around a large puddle, he crept towards the row of closed stalls. There seemed to be a noise coming from one of them, like a rustle of fabric, but it was so faint it might have been his imagination.

"Myrtle?" he called out uncertainly.

There was a muffled gasp, and Harry's head swiveled towards a door which had a crude drawing scratched into its flaking paint. Now that he thought of it, that had been Myrtle's usual haunt back when they were brewing the Polyjuice.

"It's me, Harry," he said, hesitating a moment before coming closer. If she turned out to be in one of her infamous weepy moods, he could just make himself scarce. "I want to talk."

"Ha-Harry?" she squeaked. "Don't come in!"

"Wasn't going to," he said, bemused. The door hinges were so rusted he doubted he could open it even if he wanted to—not without aggressive application of magic, in any case.

There was that rustling noise again, then silence. At last, Myrtle's silvery face poked through the door. She squinted at him through her horn-rimmed glasses, and her face lit up in a smile.

"It really is you!" Her smile faded a little. "Finally found time for boring old Myrtle, then?"

He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Sorry, it's been a busy year... but you know about that already. Er, how are you?"

"Oh, the usual—I'm dead, and every living being inside the castle hates me," she said matter-of-factly as she floated out through the door. Unsurprisingly, she was unchanged from his second year, sporting the same long pigtails and the dated Hogwarts uniform, although this time the buttons of her drab cardigan were done up wrong for some reason.

"I don't hate you, Myrtle," he said patiently.

She smoothed down her pleated skirt. "That's nice of you to say."

"I'm not just _saying_ that." She didn't appear convinced, and he sighed, raking a hand through his hair. "Look, I wanted to thank you for helping me back under the lake. There's no way I would've found my friend in time without you. So, um... thanks."

"You're welcome, I suppose." Despite her melancholy tone, the corners of her lips pulled upwards a fraction. "Do you want to come into my stall and talk? It gets awfully lonely this time of the year after the first-year girls stop wandering in." Her see-through face shone with hope.

He stepped back, glancing over his shoulder at the exit. "Um... I just remembered I have to return this Sneakoscope I borrowed..." He trailed off. Tears were pooling at the edges of Myrtle's eyes, and he knew she was on the verge of a full-on bawl. Grimacing, he prayed to Merlin he wasn't making a huge mistake. "Yeah, okay, I'll stay for a quick chat."

Myrtle blinked rapidly, then wiped her face with a transparent sleeve. "Really?"

"I said I would, didn't I?" he said grumpily. "I'm not setting foot inside your nasty stall though."

He felt guilty as soon as the words left his mouth and averted his gaze, instead eyeing the rest of the lavatory. Everything around was badly in need of house-elf magic, and after some further inspection he waved his wand over a base of a decorative column and settled on it.

Myrtle floated closer. "I thought you were teasing me," she said with a note of incredulity. "No one ever stays when I offer."

"Well, I'm here," he said, leaning back against the stone. "What did you want to talk about?"

She furrowed her brows before perking up. "I could tell you all about my death again! Did I ever mention how Olive Hornby _shrieked_ when she found my body? Her eyes went wide as saucers!"

He grimaced. "Can we pick any other topic besides death?"

She crossed her arms. "Well, excuse the miserable, lonesome Myrtle for wanting to talk about the only interesting thing to ever happen to her. It's not like she would know what people normally chat about, never having had any friends—in life _nor_ in death."

He suppressed another sigh; even if he wanted to be cross with her, it was hard to muster anger at someone _that_ pathetic. "How about you tell me what Hogwarts was like back in your day?"

"I'm not centuries old, you know," she huffed. "Not much has changed at all. Look, our uniforms are much the same, and even your glasses are similar to mine." She ran her ghostly fingertips along her round frames for emphasis.

Harry immediately made a mental note to purchase a more modern pair of spectacles—rectangular, perhaps. "The students and most of the professors were different, at least. And what about your house? Did it take long for the Hat to sort you?"

Tilting her head, she tapped a translucent finger against her lips. Harry let out a breath in relief that he finally managed to say something she wouldn't retort to.

"It did, come to think of it," she said, a faraway look in her eyes. "Shoddy old thing kept trying to convince me to go into Hufflepuff, but I told it in no uncertain terms I belonged with smart people, not duffers. Used to get top marks in primary school, you know."

He privately reflected that if she _had_ gone with the 'duffers', perhaps she would be still alive today, but didn't voice the thought. Merlin knew she wasn't the only one to go against the Sorting Hat's wishes. "Ravenclaw, huh. I've never even seen their common room."

Myrtle seemed to gain some color. "Oh, it's truly magnificent. The first time I saw it, I just stood in the middle and turned in place, watching the stars revolve on the ceiling. But before the prefects let the first-years inside, they made us solve the door knocker's riddle. 'What is tall when young and short when old?' I knew the answer immediately, of course, but you wouldn't _believe_ what Miriam Abbott guessed..."

Harry had only asked out of politeness, but as she went on talking animatedly, his eagerness to leave her company faded. While he wasn't much for gossip, a glimpse into Hogwarts's recent past was fascinating, as was the insight into life in Ravenclaw. If Myrtle was to be believed, it was a cold and competitive environment; the boys mostly ignored her, but the girls... they went much further.

As Myrtle described, in lurid detail and with a kind of morbid glee, how she'd been owled a letter from an 'anonymous admirer' asking to meet at the Astronomy Tower, and how everyone pointed and laughed when she descended the stairs from the dorms dressed in her best robes, Harry could only shake his head. He would never have thought that girls could be so cruel to each other.

"That's _horrible_ ," he said, his compassion genuine for the first time in their conversation. Remembering being called the Heir back in his second year, and more recently the trouble with the Goblet, he couldn't help but feel for Myrtle who had been similarly ostracized, if for different reasons.

"Isn't it?" she crooned, appearing pleased by his reaction. "Tammy Donohue—it was _her_ who sent the letter—is probably all wrinkled and wizened by now. Has to be—her _granddaughter_ started Hogwarts last year." Sighing deeply, she turned around and gathered up her long skirt before perching down besides him. To Harry's silent amusement, about an inch of space remained between her bottom and the base of the pillar. "Do you think that means she found herself a husband and got married and everything?"

He blinked. "I imagine that's how these things usually go, yes."

"Oh, I suppose. It's just _so_ unfair that Tammy got to do all that, and I died before I was even kissed." She blew at her bangs sulkily, then glanced his way. "Have you ever kissed a girl, Harry?"

"Er, no." He wondered if that made him as bad as Myrtle.

She gave him a once-over. "You probably will soon—the boys in my class started pulling witches into broom closets when they were about your age." Her forehead creased in a frown. "Never me, though, oh no. Not the smelly, spotty, four-eyed Myrtle."

"Ghosts don't smell," Harry muttered, distracted by the idea of him snogging girls. Myrtle sniffled loudly, and he raised his hands in a placating gesture. "That is to say, I'm sure you smelled lovely when you were alive. And there's nothing wrong with wearing spectacles either." He wisely avoided the 'spotty' comment, as her acne was a little too obvious to deny.

She dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve. "Thanks, Harry. You're the nicest boy I ever met. Were I still alive, I would kiss you for sure." She looked down at her lap and fidgeted with her hands. "If you didn't mind being kissed by someone like me, that is."

Ghost or not, the idea that a girl wanted to kiss him put a smile on his face. "I wouldn't have minded at all."

She beamed at him then looked away, a silvery blush tinging her cheeks. For a while they sat in companionable silence, Myrtle swinging her skinny legs back and forth, and him watching her thoughtfully. It was hard to imagine her being anything else but gloomy, but here she was smiling and humming and looking downright pleasant to be around. He was suddenly glad he had come.

Myrtle gave him a sideways glance, then looked away when their eyes met and scuffed her ghostly shoe against the floor. Far from her blush fading, her misty cheeks were so flushed now they were almost opaque.

"Harry," she said, "have you ever seen a girl naked?"

His jaw fell open. He snapped it shut and mutely shook his head.

Giving him a coy little smile, she undid the topmost button of her askew cardigan. "Do—do you want to?"

He gaped at her, then jerked back and nearly fell on his rump, barely catching himself against the pillar. "I, uh, don't think that's a good idea."

Her face fell. "Oh, I see," she spat, standing up and crossing her arms. "You're just like the other boys. Of course, no one would want to see ugly Myrtle's breasts."

"Bwuh— _breasts_?" he spluttered. The word seemed to hold an almost magical quality, instantly making his eyes focus on the modest curves under Myrtle's sweater.

She giggled. "I wish I'd tried this when I was still alive, if that is all that's necessary to get a boy interested." Her slender fingers started unbuttoning her cardigan. "If you stay, I'll let you look all—you—want."

He glanced at the door, then back at the ghost girl, debating internally whether to make a run for it or not. On one hand, if word ever got out, he was never living this down. On the other... _boobies_.

Yep, that settled it.

"Colloportus," he said, jabbing his wand at the door.

"Locking us in? Naughty boy," Myrtle said in a voice that made goosebumps erupt on his skin. "Now sit back and watch."

He plopped down obediently, his eyes never leaving her spectral figure. Myrtle shrugged off her cardigan, leaving it to drift mid-air, then gave him a furtive glance before moving on to unbuttoning the overlarge shirt tucked into her skirt. Her head was lowered and cheeks bright as the garment parted, revealing her collarbone, then a short camisole, then the pale skin of her belly.

The shirt soon joined the sweater, and Harry's breath quickened, his gaze roaming her frail frame. Biting her lip, Myrtle swept her pigtails back and nudged the straps of her camisole along her slim shoulders with such slowness that he barely resisted the urge to whine at her to hurry up. At last, she slid the undergarment down to her waist, but he barely caught a tantalizing glimpse of her breasts before she covered them with her palms. He couldn't help the groan that escaped his lips.

"You sound like you really want to see them," Myrtle said gleefully. She sauntered closer, her footsteps making no sound, and leaned forward. "Here, look."

Her palms inched down until her budding breasts sprang into view. Harry swallowed, devouring them with his eyes. Her nipples were pointy, and recalling something Seamus had said once, he wondered if that meant she was, well, _excited_ about giving him a show.

Clasping her hands behind her back, Myrtle swiveled side to side. "They—they aren't as big as some of the other girls'..."

"They're brilliant," he whispered, following her enticing movements. He meant it too, even if he would've preferred something of the more corporeal variety. "Merlin, I wish I could touch them." It took a few seconds for his brain to catch up with his mouth, and he felt heat rise in his cheeks. "Uh, I mean, I—"

Her girlish laughter rang through the room and Harry clammed up, as much out of embarrassment as surprise.

"I don't remember being this happy since I drove Olive to tears at her brother's wedding." She leaned closer to whisper into his ear, as though disclosing a great secret. "I wish you could touch me too, Harry. I'd let you touch me all over, as long as you wanted."

"Cheers," he mumbled, his eyes roving over her half-naked figure.

"Oh, I know!" she said brightly, drawing back. "Tell me what you want me to do."

It took him some effort to wrench his gaze away from her chest and meet her eyes. "What?"

She raised her hands. "Anything you want. Direct me." Despite blushing up to her ears, she didn't look away.

"Er, okay then." His voice came out an octave higher than usual, and he cleared his throat. "Um, go ahead and touch your, you know..." He mimed breasts on his own chest.

Myrtle giggled. "You mean my breasts? Boobs? Baps? Tits?" She spoke each word as though relishing the naughtiness.

"Yeah. Those."

Under his attentive gaze, she slid her palms up her ribs until they brushed the underside of her perky mounds. Giving him a coquettish glance, she trailed her fingertips upwards, teasing her hardened nipples.

"Like that?" she asked huskily.

"Grab on and squeeze," Harry said, too caught up in their game to care about appearances.

Her eyes widened slightly at his commanding tone but she obeyed, cupping her breasts as he'd ordered. They were about a palmful in her small hands.

"Mmm," she said, biting her lip as she kneaded them.

"H-how do they feel?" he asked, his mouth rather dry.

"Nice and soft," Myrtle said, peering at him as she fondled herself. "But my nipples are very hard and it feels good to rub them. And it— _ah_ —hurts a little when I squeeze, but that's alright because I'm imagining your rough boyish hands doing this to me."

"Bloody hell," Harry whispered, moving his hand down absently to adjust himself.

Myrtle's lips quirked into a sly grin as she followed his motion with her eyes. "Why, Harry," she purred, slinking closer, "if you're uncomfortable, you can take those trousers off."

"I'm fine," he said, scooting back as her silvery face loomed uncomfortably close.

"I won't mind," she whispered into one ear before flitting to his other side. "I reckon I'd rather _like_ it."

He pressed his legs together, his cheeks burning. "That—that wasn't the deal."

She stepped back and pouted before smiling again. Bending down, she grasped her skirt and lifted it slowly, until just a bit of bare skin was visible above her grey knee socks.

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours." She fluttered her eyelashes.

He gulped. Myrtle's knobby knees weren't particularly alluring, but if she raised her skirt a little higher... He nervously glanced over his shoulder, then back at her ghostly figure. Releasing a shaky breath, he fumbled for his belt buckle.

Myrtle knelt on the floor before him, watching with a transfixed expression as he undid his trouser button and unzipped his fly.

"Do—do you have to get so close?" he muttered.

She spared him a glance before returning her attention to the tent in his boxers. "I've never seen a boy's _thing_ get this big, not even when I stumbled upon Cedric Diggory in the Prefects' Bathroom."

"You spy on the prefects?" He wondered if he should feel indignant on their behalf, then decided it wasn't his problem. "Well, here... here it goes."

He pushed his boxers down. Myrtle's ghostly lips formed an 'O' as his cock sprang up inches away from her face, so close Harry reckoned he would've felt her breath had she not been a ghost. She goggled before reaching out gingerly, her fingertips prickling him with cold. It wasn't pleasant in the least, but the simple fact of a girl touching him where he had never been touched before was enough to make him twitch.

"Oh my." Her pupils were dilated as she looked up briefly before returning to her intense scrutiny. "You felt that?"

Having discovered how sensitive he was to her touch, she was no longer content with simply looking. Her fingers skimmed along his length, poked, and tickled, stinging him with icy twinges. He raised his hands as though to push her away, then rested them on his knees again.

"Stop," he hissed, squirming as she tittered breathlessly at his reactions. "It's _freezing_."

She drew back, ducking her head. "Sorry, I—"

"No, it's fine," he said quickly. "I just wanted to see you too."

"Oh... of course, Harry," she said, brightening up again. "Now I understand what my dormmates meant about boys being impatient."

She looked herself over, ran her fingers along the waistband of her skirt, then gave him a bashful glance. Backing away a little, she bent forward and reached under the sides of her skirt, wiggling her hips. A pair of baggy knickers fell to her ankles and she stepped out of them, nudging them away.

"They—they aren't very nice, I suppose," Myrtle said self-consciously. "Had I known I was about to die that day, I would've worn my nicest pair."

Harry snorted; he couldn't have cared less about underwear fashion at that point. His cock was so hard it was aching at the thought of her being completely bare under her skirt.

"I'm more interested in what's underneath," he blurted out. Again, his cheeks burned when he realized the indecency of what he'd said, but he didn't look away from her this time.

An answering blush tinted her cheeks and she averted her gaze. "Oh, you're such a _boy_ ," she said. "Let Myrtle teach you about girls, then."

Harry expected her to unclasp that damned skirt and let him look already, but she had other ideas. Putting one foot forward, Myrtle pinched the fabric with both hands and pulled upwards with torturous slowness. The hem slid up revealing a sock, then bare shin, then her knee. Irritated as he was by her teasing, Harry's breath quickened when he caught the first glimpse of her pale, translucent thighs, and he inadvertently stooped to see more.

"So _impatient_ ," she said with obvious delight, allowing the skirt to drop an inch again and making him groan. "Don't worry. I promised, after all."

She reached down to grip the hem of her skirt and lifted it, higher and higher, baring her skinny thighs, and at last, the triangle of wispy curls at the juncture of her legs. Harry leaned forward.

"Come closer," he said hoarsely.

Holding up her skirt with both hands, she inched forward. Harry stared at the plump cleft between her legs. It was covered in downy hair, but he could see her inner lips peeking out a little.

"H-how is it?" she asked, squirming as she presented herself to him.

"I want to see better," he said. "Open your legs."

She stood still for a moment, then widened her stance a couple of inches. Harry bounced his knee impatiently.

"Could you"—he licked his lips nervously—"could you spread it for me?"

Answer not forthcoming, he raised his head to find Myrtle blushing furiously, her eyes darting side to side.

"That's... that's really embarrassing," she mumbled.

"It was embarrassing for me too," he pointed out. "But I let you get a good look."

She worried her lip then nodded, lowering her left hand down her stomach while her right held up the skirt. Harry held his breath, hardly believing he was witnessing a girl baring her most private parts to him.

She ran her index finger along her slit, shivered slightly, then spread herself open. Harry's breath caught. Her inner flesh glistened, and even as he watched, a silvery bead hung in a string before dripping to the floor.

"You're _wet_ ," he breathed. A rather gratifying thought occurred to him. "Is that, er, because of me?"

"Not just that!" she said heatedly. "I was playing with myself before you came and—"

She clamped a hand over her mouth, hugging herself around the waist with the other, and turned aside.

"Y-you were?" he asked, mouth agape.

"Oh, go ahead and laugh," she said crossly. "Myrtle's a disgusting little pervert."

"Myrtle, that's bloody _hot_." He licked his lips. "I want to watch you do it."

Her eyes were wide under her spectacles. "You want me to... in front of you?"

He bobbed his head. "You said you'd do anything I wanted. Well, I want you to show me how you play with yourself."

"In—in that case, it can't be helped," she said, seemingly more to herself than him. "I did promise."

She gathered up her skirt, Harry's gaze lingering on the curve of her cute butt, before facing him again and taking a hesitant step forward.

"I don't usually bother undressing," she said, not meeting his eyes. "But it wouldn't be very interesting for you to watch that way, I suppose." She tittered nervously.

"Yeah, this is much better," he said breathlessly, his eyes fixed on the slender hand snaking down her belly.

She slid her palm between her thighs then started caressing herself with two fingers, up and down, up and down, shivering slightly. Tentative at first, her movements gradually grew faster. If she was looking at him Harry wouldn't know, for his entire focus was on the motion of her hand. He could see her fingers glisten with her silvery wetness, and no longer able to restrain himself, he began stroking his cock.

She curled her fingers to rub the top of her slit in little circles and moaned loudly, her legs trembling. It was the most erotic sound Harry had ever heard, and it blew his mind that it was _Myrtle_ of all people who produced it. He looked up to find her peering at him through half-lidded eyes.

"Are—are you doing it too?" she asked in an out-of-breath voice.

"After seeing you like this, it's hard not to," he said. "Keep going."

Myrtle resumed her motions, her limpid eyes now fixed on his cock, and for a minute the room was filled with nothing but the sounds of his ragged breathing and her soft whimpers. Being watched like that was as mortifying as it was exhilarating, and Harry didn't think he could hold out for much longer.

"Are you... _close_?" he grunted, slowing his strokes.

"Oh yes," she gasped. "I've never— _mmm_ —felt this way, Harry. It's because you're here."

She tucked the hem of her skirt under her chin, freeing her hand to knead her breast as she continued rubbing herself with the other. Her fingers were slick all over, and the curls around her puffy slit were matted. As he watched, she lowered her index finger to her opening and slipped it in to the first knuckle.

"I've never got more than one inside me." Her finger dipped deeper, then back out, and she whimpered. "But I'm so wet I might fit in two."

"Bloody hell, Myrtle," he murmured. "I can't—I'm about to—"

"Me too..." Her fingers plunged in and out with desperate need, trails of her wetness trickling down her trembling thighs. "Please— _together_ , it will be almost like—"

Harry gritted his teeth and relaxed his grip, feeling he would cum even without stroking himself. Before him, Myrtle wore a look he'd never seen before, panting for air her body didn't need, her eyes glazed over and her skin glinting with a sheen of sweat.

"Cum for me, Myrtle," he whispered in encouragement. "I want to see you cum."

She tensed up visibly before a tremor shook her slight body. Her hips bucked, her thighs squeezed together, and her skirt drooped down as she arched her neck, crying out with a look of ecstasy on her flushed face.

It was this look that was Harry's undoing; he pumped his hand jerkily, then groaned as he too was overcome by pleasure.

Myrtle slumped to her knees, one hand between her legs, her body still quivering. The eyes she'd closed fluttered open in time to see Harry spurt out the last rope of his cum.

"Oh, wow," she said in a dazed voice, glancing at the mess he'd made at the floor curiously before turning to look at him.

"Yeah," Harry whispered, his mind so fuzzy he wasn't even sure what he meant. Their eyes locked and they shared a smile, and he knew this wasn't an experience he would ever forget.

It didn't take long for the reality of the situation to sink in. Sitting in a girl's loo, cock in hand, with a half-naked Moaning Myrtle kneeling before him... _Crap_.

He patted his pockets for his wand with his left hand, then went about Vanishing the evidence of their act, starting with cleaning his sticky right palm as he was apt to set something on fire—or worse—if he continued to cast with his left. Once finished, he dressed and lit up his wand to check himself over. The sky behind the narrow arched windows was darkening, and apart from Myrtle's subtle silvery glow, the lavatory was cast in shadow. The girl herself was watching him with a befuddled expression, as though still out of it.

"I have to go," he said.

Myrtle blinked at him. "Oh."

"Yeah. My friends might be looking for me." He swallowed as he searched for the right words and found none. Why was he feeling so awkward all of a sudden, when he had no problem saying all sorts of outrageous things minutes ago?  "Well, uh... good night, then."

Clasping her hands over her chest, she rose to her feet and floated up to him. Her face shone with hope and anxiety as she spoke. "Will you visit me again?"

"Sure," he answered, affirming it with a nod. Now that he saw Myrtle for what she truly was—a lonely, insecure girl craving experiences she had missed out on—there was no way he was going to snub her again. "Just, er... you'll keep this quiet, right?"

"Of course, Harry," she said indignantly. "This is just our secret."

He smiled. "That it is."


End file.
